


Finer Than Frog Hair Split in Half

by Immi



Series: F is For Friends [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Family Issues, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immi/pseuds/Immi
Summary: The new Overwatch lassos another straggler.





	Finer Than Frog Hair Split in Half

Fareeha had accumulated a fair share of experience with budget complications over the years. The Egyptian Armed Forces asked for her opinion on their distribution of funds less often than they listened to it. Helix, juggernaut of experimental military tech, last line of defense against everything that the world used to have Overwatch for, had happily ignored her repeated reports on the flaws in the security plan for Anubis until the day she and her squad were firing off rockets in the heart of the facility.

Hearing that the new Overwatch had a funding problem wasn’t a shock. She’d come into this operation knowing full well what she was getting. This was a mission built on heart, not money. They were doing an international job they legally weren’t allowed to do, using a base they weren’t supposed to be occupying, and equipment they weren’t supposed to have. Problems were to be expected.

Another way to put it, which she preferred, was that problems were why Overwatch existed. They were in the business of solutions. Whether it was interrupting a terrorist attack or figuring out how their agents were going to feed themselves, they would supply an answer.

And Fareeha happened to like the answer to this problem. Very much.

Nine times out of ten.

At the present moment, closed off from the rest of the world in a tiny motel room with unforgiving desert heat seeping in through the shaded windows, Saleh was appropriately sweating bullets, Tariq was scrambling to bandage his leg before the floor was irredeemably covered in blood, and Fareeha had lost all feeling in her hand from Saleh’s grip on it.

“A cowboy,” Saleh hissed, “shot me in the leg.”

Bounty hunting for fun and profit. With the fun part officially over, and the profit part looking more unlikely by the minute.

“You’re in shock, Saleh.”

The soothing tone Tariq had picked up from one of their first-aid seminars didn’t have the desired effect on their injured squadmate. He grit his teeth, making eye contact with Fareeha so fiercely that some of the pressure was taken off her hand.

“He thought I was the mark,” he said, biting out his words. “Shot me in the leg before he saw my face. Apologized. Told me to mind myself after. Left to track the target.” He blinked back a few pained tears. “I’ve seen him before.”

Fareeha didn’t bother with soothing. “Do you know where?”

“Wanted list. I think.”

Leaving them with two outlaws to track down in the same city. If they didn’t have to scrub. Someone had probably seen Tariq carrying Saleh back to the motel, and it would be a while before he was back on his feet. Two on two with an unestablished wild card could turn bad fast.

Fareeha dug out the holo-app they’d picked up with their last bounty and held it above Saleh’s face anyway, setting the feed to an automatic scroll. Every single person with a bounty out on them was logged in it, though for the time being it was set only to browse North America’s selection. It shouldn’t have cost as much as it did, but bounty hunting had gotten competitive enough in recent years that half the work came from finding someone to hunt down in the first place. Something to do with global security being docked a few major programs.

When it wasn’t getting her men shot, Fareeha found it exhilarating. Chasing down shadows into the unknown and throwing them back to the righteous light suited her. The added tension of her livelihood and their entire operation being dependent on success only completed the feeling. Her mother would have a hypocritical fit.

“There,” Saleh said. “Him. Cowboy.”

The scrolling stopped.

Nostalgia knocked.

Fareeha took a long look at the face sporting the sixty-million dollar bounty. Longer than she needed to. Longer than she should have, with the stack of problems starting to topple over on her squad.

Jesse McCree, in all his brazen cowboy glory, looked back, sporting the exact same hat he used to squash over her eyes when they sat next to each other in the mess hall. Or when he caught her during hide-and-seek.

To the side of the image, the words, “Dead or Alive,” pulsed benignly in red.

“Tariq,” she heard herself say, “you have Saleh’s leg handled?”

“Yes, Captain.”

She squeezed Saleh’s hand and extracted herself. She didn’t think he noticed. He would be okay with Tariq. They did have medpacks, even if they weren’t supposed to use them outside of life-threatening injuries. He’d be fine. Not fine enough for what was coming next, but that was her job to work around, not his.

Shutting the door carefully, she dunked her head in the sink of their cramped bathroom. She gave herself one short breath of absence in dusting the droplets off, and brought up Gibraltar on her communicator, going with the standard channel after a moment’s thought. The situation counted as an emergency, but her mother had promised to actively monitor that one. If she could avoid adding further complications before the end of the hour, they’d all be better off.

Her call was answered at the first tone, and a holographic Genji took her place in the mirror above the sink.

“Captain Amari,” he greeted.

“Genji.” Another time, she’d ask him how he ended up on monitor duty when they had Athena and he preferred to avoid the central hubs of Gibraltar, but her gratitude would have to play second fiddle to urgency. “We’ve run into a complication.”

“Of what nature?”

“McCree showed up and shot Saleh in the leg.”

His head reared back. She wasn’t good enough to guess at what expression that would match up to yet, but imagination filled the gap readily. Old friends crashing back to Overwatch was becoming a theme. “Do you require medical assistance?”

“He’ll be fine.” The muscles lining Fareeha’s spine tensed, and she could hear her tone clipping. “Did Winston hear anything back from McCree when he sent out the recall?”

Genji didn’t move, and he didn’t repeat the question to Athena. “He declined to respond.”

That had been her memory. Not a surprise. McCree had left before Overwatch first disbanded, and the only people who had responded to the recall were Tracer, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn. Everyone else had waltzed through the front door at their own convenience. Fareeha had technically done so uninvited.

She and Genji shared the moment of silence backing up both their sides of the world. She knew what she was inclined to do, and he probably did as well. Genji was good at predicting people, and he was developing a seventh sense for predicting her. The only question was how dangerous it would be. She knew the boy with the fantastic belt buckle, not the man accused of hijacking trains.

He still had the belt buckle.

Fareeha sighed. “Genji, when he left—”

“Fareeha, you’ve run into trouble?”

A stubborn sort that seemed not to have an interest in stopping.

Her mother’s voice, joined swiftly by her mother, stepped into the monitor room. If the tails of her coat happened to catch the air dramatically as she marched in, well, Fareeha couldn’t say it wasn’t appropriate.

Genji was shoved to the side of the feed by the implacable presence that was Ana Amari, his open posture still directed at the camera, but cut in half by the tense look of disapproval and worry that had become the standard for Fareeha’s interactions with her beloved mother. Any bother he felt at the sudden interruption was covered by his visor and years of meditation. Fareeha wasted a heartbeat on envy and collected herself, abandoning the sliver of ease that had tried to set in.

 “We’ve made contact with McCree,” she said. “He downed Saleh chasing after our prospective bounty. I called to check on his recall status.”

Fareeha could see Ana’s hands typing under her amused huff. Doubtless exploring Overwatch’s history of what McCree was up to these days. It would probably be more extensive than an enormous amount of money followed by the enormous string of grievances provoking the number. Athena had kept up a surprisingly thorough record of what all former agents were up to, whether or not they wanted to bring their shared history into the present.

She glanced at Genji.

Ana shook her head and tutted. “That boy has built up quite the resume since I’ve been away.” Her eye swiveled back to Fareeha. “How wounded is your man?”

“Imminently stable, but not up for a chase unless we use a medpack.” Fareeha didn’t want to admit the next part, but she didn’t have much choice. “Competing with McCree isn’t likely to end in our favor.”

A spark of approval lit in Ana’s face, and Fareeha’s heart swelled. “Of course.” Her chin found a place on her fist, and she observed her daughter in silent judgment. Neutrally for once. A commander inspecting her unit and considering how best to make use of them.

Fareeha had spent all of her adult life chasing after these moments.

Abruptly, Ana pulled away. “Bring him back with you, Fareeha,” she said. “If he insists on being an outlaw, he might as well have company.”

Permission granted, she passed out of the room as theatrically as she’d entered. Never mind how often she rolled her eyes at Jack marching the exact same path when they were all younger. The haze of the empty doorway gave way to Fareeha’s reflection, both eyes wary and alert with the tattooed promise she’d taken up.

She ignored it and turned back to Genji. He had not stopped watching her, and made no move to turn off the feed. He had, however, slid his chair back to its exact position prior to Ana’s entrance. There probably wasn’t a pixel of difference. Fareeha, more than sympathetic to feeling like a breathing lamp around her mother, elected not to comment.

“He’s her favorite,” she told him conversationally.

“McCree?”

“Taught him to shoot and everything,” Fareeha said. And didn’t immediately charter a plane to go out and maim the man for living irresponsibly. “He always beat me at darts.”

Saleh was quieting down. There was a good chance Tariq had been made. The bounty was still out on their initial target, but McCree had—according to his rap sheet—been doing this for much longer than the new Overwatch. He could nab the guy and be out of the city before the end of the day. Since he’d already shot a bystander, he would be looking for a fast, clean getaway.

She didn’t have her suit. On the ground, she had a rough guess of where their skill levels fell, and it was not complimentary. She would need to follow him, avoid getting shot, wait to catch him off-guard, and continue to avoid getting shot until she could convince him to come back with her.

Their mission kit, regretfully, did not come with tranq darts.

“Our father favored Hanzo.” Genji had stopped sitting up so rigidly straight. Certain parts of him refused to bend, but stress was clearly staying in her hemisphere. “He taught him everything he knew while letting me do whatever I pleased.”

His visor glinted upwards. “I did still learn enough to beat McCree at darts.”

“I,” Fareeha said, “was twelve.” The first time. Looking back, she’d spent a disproportionate amount of her time at Overwatch facilities getting trounced at barroom games. The career agents understandably had a lot of practice.

“So you’ll have no interest in watching when I challenge him upon your return?”

Fareeha eyed Genji. “I didn’t say that.”

Genji nodded so respectfully that she had never been more sure she was being made fun of. Fareeha ran a tired, bloody, hand through her hair, shaking her head. And smiling. She hadn’t realized that was possible so soon after exchanging words with her mother. Let alone in the middle of a mission to track down her felonious babysitter.

The question she’d started earlier came back to her. “Do you think he’ll want to return?”

Genji’s neck pulled back in the same motion it had when she first mentioned McCree. Surprise, maybe. With a dash of consideration from the extra horizontal tilt. He didn’t speak for several moments. A long time, considering the circumstances.

“I believe,” Genji said slowly, “he left to pursue his own view of justice. As it was becoming, Overwatch could not support him in his path.” The chair he was sitting on eased forward. “He is not lost to our cause.”

Fareeha’s smile turned rueful. “I’m hearing a ‘no.’”

“That is the standard for most recruitment missions.”

It was the answer he kept receiving from his brother, he didn’t say. She wasn’t sure how pleased he would be that she knew that. Genji’s participation in the new Overwatch did not stop him from striking out on his own at regular intervals. His privacy had been an illusion since joining them at Gibraltar, but it was one they all partook in. Respecting it was the least they could do for each other.

Fareeha took in her final deep breath before the plunge, holding it carefully before release. She couldn’t hear any activity outside the bathroom anymore. That would change quickly when they heard their new mission parameters. She looked Genji in the visor. The washed-out blue of the hologram didn’t do him any favors. She’d have to think about changing her color settings when she got back.

“Then we’ll have to spur him to action ourselves.”

His head tilted up again. A smile. Definitely a smile.

Fareeha caught her reflection’s eye. That made two of them.

What she had learned fastest in the new Overwatch was that part of old friends coming back was giving older pettiness a jumpstart. Torbjörn and Reinhardt would never find themselves using the same hammer. Jack and chain of command were on speaking terms maybe once a month. Her mother was unparalleled and best unthought of on the score of her memories of every single one of their comrades.

Fareeha could leave the darts to Genji’s capable hands for now.

In the meantime, she had a game of hide-and-seek to repay.


End file.
